I Wander Across Worlds (Take Care Of My Heart For Me)
by Far Away In Wonderland
Summary: Daenerys remembered well the first time she had seen the man. Blooded and battered the dothraki warriors had dragged him before Drogo. "What is your name?" she had asked of the man with his gold-blond hair and bright blue eyes that looked at her with defiance and rage. "Michael James Ross.". AU. Crossover. Marvey.
**AN:** So, I always wanted to write a Suits/GoT crossover and finally I did it! You could say it´s guilty pleasure of mine. I just wrote a few scenes and connected them into an overarching plot. This is told from Mike´s and Daenerys' POV, so not everything that differs from canon will be explained. Enjoy ^.^

* * *

Night had descended upon Kings Landing, the greatest city of Westeros. Standing tall and proud, the Red Keep threw his shadows over the city beneath it, like a giant benevolently watching its children. Stars were alight on the sky and every now and then a cloud would pass by, obscuring the firmament.

The city itself wasn't as peaceful as it seemed from faraway; its calmness only an illusion, a trick to lure in the innocent and naïve. People would hush over the streets, nothing more than shadows, their faces obscured by hoods. Sometimes, when you passed by an inn, its door would open and some drunks would stumble out, slurring something unintelligible. Easy pickings for all those little war orphans that haunted the streets at night, with their skeleton fingers and much too big eyes that stared at you wistfully and full of hope that the city had yet to stomp out of them.

You could recognize the brothels due to the red curtains hanging in front of their windows; illuminated by the candles standing in the room, the moaning of passion even audible on the street. There wasn't any lack of willing – or not so willing – women who sold their bodies. Many men went out to fight for one king or another, only to die with no one to remember their names but their wives and children at home.

Even a poor fisherman could afford several whores for one night now. Or just one. Young girls were more expensive after all.

Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons stood on one of the Red Keep´s many balconies and looked down on the disgusting city that she was now calling her home.

Not even Astapor or Mereen had been disgusting. At least the people there had been upfront about their intentions, practiced slavery and called it so, instead of dressing it up with new names, like the Westerosi nobility did it with their serfs. Sometimes she wondered why she had even come here. Even though her family name may be Targaryen she was a foreigner to those people.

"What are you thinking about, Daenerys?" she turned her back towards the city and instead watched the figure that had entered her chamber.

"I could have your head for that, you know?" she mused. "Lack of respect for your queen." The man in front of her just smiled, his cerulean eyes shining with mirth.

"You´d never do that," he replied confidently. "I´m your favourite after all." He stepped into the light that shone through the opening in the walls. His blonde hair was dishevelled as always, sticking in every direction, framing a pale face in which his eyes reflected the moon light, which made them look like glowing sapphires. His skin was still as unblemished as it had been all those years when they first meet and his body was still as lithe as it had been then.

It seemed like nothing had changed in all those years, yet Daenerys knew that it wasn't true. They both had suffered through so much challenges, some together, some alone, but it had changed them. There was a sadness to the man´s eyes that hadn't been there before, hidden wisdom that had been accumulated over the course of many years.

And Daenerys knew that she had the same eyes as well. The haunted, the sad, the serious one. It was the fate of those who went out changing the world that they came back with old eyes and even older spirits.

"You´re right," she conceded. "I never would." She paused for a moment, allowing the silence to engulf them like an old friend. When she was younger she had always loved silence. It meant that Viserys wasn't near, that she hadn't need to fear his sadistic and violent outburst from which nobody would save her. A little girl wasn't worth risking the wrath of the possible future king of a continent after all.

Silence had been safety. It still was.

 _Look where I am now, Viserys_ , Daenerys thought vindictively, _atop the world while your remains rot somewhere in the Dothraki Sea, forgotten by everyone but me._

"Are you thinking about your wedding tomorrow?" the man disrupted her thoughts with his words. Immediately a big scowl arranged itself over Daenery´s beautiful features.

"Wedding?" she spat, her ire immediately roused. "They forced me to marry one of their own Lords just so that they wouldn't continue resist against my rightful regency over these lands!" She balled her hands into a fist, her nails digging into her flesh.

"After Drogo…" she started. "I never wanted to be forced into a marriage again." She laughed, a sound full of bitterness. "And look where I am now, ready to marry another man to secure my claim on the throne."

"I won´t say that everything will turn out okay in the end," the man replied evenly. After Daenery´s outburst his voice seemed to be even more quiet than before. "But at least this time you´re the one in a position of strength. You have three grown dragons and while you may have been forced into this marriage, the threat of them will still hang over all those petty lordlings like a thundercloud, ready to strike at them at every moment." His lips turned into a smile, showing his perfectly white teeth. "Fire and Blood. That are your family´s words after all."

His words had their desired effect. Fire and Blood, Daenerys thought. They may have won this round, but it was she who would prevail in the end. She always did.

"You´re right," she sighed. "As always." It was in this moment that the door leading to the room adjourned to hers opened and a little boy peeked out from behind it.

"Mike!" the boy squealed and ran towards the blonde.

"Ah, there´s my little stallion," the now-named Mike grinned and lifted the boy up from the ground. "How´s it doing, Rhaego?"

"I don´t like it here," the boy pouted. "The people here are always smiling and always want to be nice to me. It´s creepy." He buried his head in the crook of Mike´s shoulders.

"T´was nicer before," he mumbled.

"Aw, come on," Mike replied. "Now you´re living in a huge castle with so much to explore! I´ve always wanted to have an own castle." Rheago peeked up from underneath his hair – he needed a haircut soon, Daenerys thought to herself – and stared at Mike.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really," Mike confirmed.

"You can have some of my castle," the little boy announced. "I don´t need it all. We can explore together!"

"That´s very generous of you," Mike replied. "You´ll make a great king one day, won´t he?" Daenerys needed a few moments to recognize that the last part had been directed at her.

"Of course," she agreed, "You´ll be the best king these lands have ever seen since Jaehaerys the Wise."

"But can I explore the castle before?" Rhaego asked with big eyes. "Don´t wanna be king yet."

"Sure you can," Mike assured the boy on his arms. Seeing them like that, Daenerys had to think back.

She remembered well the first time she had seen Mike. Blooded and battered the dothraki warriors had dragged him before Drogo. He had killed five of them trying to protect a family of six – a mother and her children – and according to dothraki customs he would be honoured for being a warrior by being allowed to die in a fight with the Khal.

"What is your name?" she asked of the man looking so different from all the inhabitants of Lhazar – lamb-men as they were called deprecatingly by the Dothraki – with his gold-blond hair and bright blue eyes that now looked at her with defiance and rage.

"Michael James Ross."

* * *

"What were you thinking about?" Mike wanted to know.

"The first time I´ve met you," Daenerys replied as she carefully stroked over Rhaego´s hair. They had put the little boy back into his bed when it became apparent that he would fall asleep again very soon.

"A memorable occasion," Mike quipped.

"It sure was," Daenerys commented light-heartedly. "You never told me how it had been for you."

Mike looked at her quizzically. Then he began to speak.

* * *

The Dothraki japed and cheered when Mike was dragged in front of their leader. Khal Drogo was an impressive figure atop his stallion with his long braid, displaying to the whole world that he had been never defeated, and the fear-inducing painting on his chest and around his eyes. Yet, Mike could muster nothing but absolute hate and loathing for the man in front of him.

He could still hear the dying screams of the villagers that the Dothraki riders had so callously murdered. Could still hear women begging for the lives of their children even while they were held down and raped. He could still hear children crying and men screaming in agony as they were ruthlessly killed by the horse riders.

Mike had killed five of them. They had tried to take Piramda and her children. Mike couldn't just let the family that had taken him in when he had nothing suffer a fate some would consider worse than death, so he had taken up Piramda´s kitchen knife and tried to defend the family. The five Dothraki had been overconfident – had even unmounted from their horses – as the taunted the Lhazareen in their guttural tongue. They were still young and unexperienced and that was what costed them their lives.

The first one didn't even see Mike coming. He stabbed him from behind; felt the skin and flesh giving away under the knife until it had pierced the man´s heart. The man – the boy – died without giving away one sound.

It was in this moment, when the Dothraki breathed his last, that a shrill scream pierced the air. Mike looked around only to see Domazha – Piramda´s six-year-old daughter – coughing up blood that soiled the beautiful dress her mother had just gifted her yesterday. The tip of a spear was protruding out of her chest. Her gaze found Mikes' one last time – full of fear, terror and pain – and then the little girl´s body sagged to the ground with a dull thud.

Mike couldn't remember what happened afterwards. He only knew that the next he remembered was him being dragged towards the Khal and his horde. Apparently his kills had earned him the honour of being killed by Khal Drogo personally.

He wanted to laugh. But his chest was hurting so much that he couldn't even do that. He didn't even know what had happened to Piramda and her family. He very much doubted that he had been able to save them in the end. Maybe they had taken the chance and fled. It was a hope Mike desperately clung to.

Next to the Khal sat a beautiful girl with white hair and daunting violet eyes that mustered him with equal measures of pity and curiosity.

"What is your name?" she asked in English, what Mike knew to be Common Tongue here.

"Michael James Ross," he spat at her with the same hate he felt for all the other Dothraki. Maybe the girl didn't look like them, but she was with them and that was everything that mattered. The next thing he felt was a sharp pain in his cheek when he was backhanded by on the riders.

"Show the Khaleesi the respect she deserves," a man beside the white girl exclaimed. Of blonde hair and light skin he didn't look like one of the Dothraki either.

"What respect does she deserve?" Mike shot back, not caring anymore. He would die either way, so why not going with thunder and applause? "What does a queen of rapist deserve? A queen of murderers; a queen of scavengers and of barbarians? What respect does a woman deserve who sits atop her horse when little girls are raped and boys get killed?" Mike was so mad. He was furious. If he could, he would have killed all of them with his bare hands. But he had been subdued and words where the only things he had left. Those they couldn't take away from him.

He was waiting for someone to strike him down for his insolence. Two Dothraki stepped forward, their hand on the hilts of their swords.

"Wait!" It was the white-haired girl that had spoken out. She turned towards the Khal and spoke to him in the guttural language of the Dothraki. What about, Mike didn't know and he didn't care either. Their argument was obviously a heated one, as both articulated with much arm gestures. Finally, the white-haired girl seemed to have won the argument – going by her obviously pleased facial expression. Khal Drogo shouted something towards the two Dothraki that had been advancing on Mike and they stopped in their tracks.

The blonde man that had been at the girl´s side, stepped forward.

"The Khaleesi has petitioned Khal Drogo for your life," he told Mike. "You´re hers now to command. Do not try anything or you will be cut down faster than you can blink."

* * *

"Is that truly wise, Khalessi?" Jorah asked her later that night when the Khalasae had settled down and only the sporadic screams of fights or fucks interrupted the silence around them. "Why did you ask him for the man when you already have the medicine woman?" Daenerys looked at the older man who had been a trusted advisor and loyal friend ever since she had married Drogo.

"I cannot truly explain," she admitted. "He is different. Nobody has ever dared to speak to me as he did."

"If you take everyone who doesn´t show you the respect you deserve then your entourage will be many and each of them out to kill you," Jorah warned her. "Khal Drogo has already needed to fight one of his own due to your decisions."

"Your warning has been noted," Daenerys replied in a tone that broke no further argument. "As you are so worried, why won´t you bring the man to me?" Jorah looked at her incredulously, but he complied without further complaint.

A few minutes later he came back with the blonde man – Michael, what an odd name, Daenerys thought – to where she and her handmaidens were sitting.

"Say, Michael," Daenerys spoke to him and the man just looked at her oddly. As if he didn't know how to assess her: The woman that had been with the Khalasar that had killed the people he had lived with – it hadn't been his people, that was clear from just one look at him – but who had also saved his life. "Do you know any stories that you could tell me and my handmaidens?" Doreah giggled as Michael just looked at her incredulously.

"You want me to tell you stories?" he asked.

"I do," Daenerys replied. "After all, I need to know if you are any good at it." Michael seemed to fight with himself for a few seconds, but then he just nodded shortly at her.

"What do you want to hear?" he wanted to know.

"Surprise me," Daenerys replied and beckoned for Irrih to handle her over some bunch of grapes.

"There once was a kingdom, reigned by a wise king and his fair wife. For long they had tried to receive a child, but to no avail. So when one day the queen announced that she was with child, the joy in the whole kingdom was great.

Shortly after the child was born, a great feast was thrown in the little girl´s honour. People from all over the country and even further away were invited – from the highest noble to the common peasant – and they all came. Invitations were also send out to twelve fairies, who came to the feast as well. Each of them bestowed upon the princess a gift of magic: Beauty, compassion, and more.

But the king and the queen had made a grave mistake. They hadn't invited the thirteenth fairy as she was the Fairy of Darkness and Evil and they didn't want her presence to mar the feast. As the twelfth fairy was about to gift the princess with her present, the sun suddenly darkened. Cold wind blew around and lightning crushed down from the sky. The thirteenth fairy had arrived and she was full of wrath.

Wroth that she hadn't been invited, the thirteenth vowed that she would nevertheless give the princess a gift of her own. And so she cursed the girl. On the eve of the day when she would turn sixteen she would sting herself on a spinning wheel and die. Then she vanished, her cruel laughter echoing through the hall even as she had already vanished…"

Daenerys was completely raptured by the story that Michael was telling her and she could tell that her handmaidens were as well. He told them of a girl that grew up never knowing where she came from or where she belonged. Of three fairies who tried to give her a home, tried to be her family. Of a gallant prince that captured the girl´s heart and fought for her against the evil fairy and finally managed to overcome all the obstacles that had been laid in his path.

When Michael had finished his story, silence reigned over their fireplace.

"I think," Daenerys started, "I know exactly the right occupation for you."

* * *

"I didn't know what to make of you then," Mike admitted. "You just wanted me to tell you stories."

"They were good ones," Daenerys shrugged as she continued to run over Rhaego´s hair. She looked at her son with adoration and love. "He would have never been here without you."

* * *

It were hard times for the Khalasar – or what was left of it, Mike supposed. After Drogo had fallen off his horse and delirium took hold of him, more and more of the abled-body men had left them – and with them they took their wives, children and slaves. A Khal who couldn't stay on his own horse wasn´t a Khal worth following.

Mike couldn´t say that he had much pity for the horse lord. He only felt kind of bad for Daenerys. When you put aside the fact that she was married to a mass murderer, she had a kind and gentle heart and cared about the people around her.

"It´s all falling apart," Mirri Maz Duur spoke with satisfaction. "It only serves this murderer right that he should die from a festering wound." Mike didn't like the woman. Had never liked her since the moment he had met her the first time when he had started living in the little village. There was something off with her. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"It won´t be of any use to you," he commented from underneath the spare shadow the tree he was leaning on offered.

"Oh, it will be," Mirri replied thoughtfully. With one last look at Mike, she turned around and made her way back towards the tent where Daenerys tended to her husband.

Mike, not bothering with her words, chose to catch some sleep instead. To the soft whisper of the wind he let his eyes close.

* * *

He woke up to screams piercing the air. Faster than he thought possible Mike sprung up and ran towards the tent. Distorted voices came from it, sounding like the screams of a thousand tortured souls and even though there wasn't any wind, the fabrics of the tent were fluttering around as if a thunderstorm was raging within.

"What happened?" he shouted at Jorah.

"The Khaleesi," Jorah replied. "She allowed the shaman woman to heal Drogo…and now she has entered the tent!"

"You fool!" Mike screamed at him. Why the hell had they decided to trust Duur?

Without thinking Mike ran towards the tent and entered it. Even though the sun was shining outside, once he entered the tent there was nothing but darkness. The only source of light were a few candles, positioned like a circle around the motionless body of Drogo. Duur was kneeling beside him, her eyes rolled back and chanting words in a language Mike couldn't understand. Daenerys was lying on the floor beside her, unconscious.

"You´re here, Michael," Duur said to him, having stopped her chanting in order to speak to him. "Now we can get revenge for what they have done to our village."

"What are you talking about?" Mike screamed against the crescendo of voices that Duur had summoned.

"The Khalessi wants me to heal her husband," Duur replied. "And I will! With the life of her child her Khal shall be healed." She laughed; a sound full of madness and hatred. The colour drained from Mike´s face.

"You would kill a child for the sins his father committed?" Mike asked stunned.

"No Dothraki is innocent!" Duur spat. "Not even one in the womb! Now, will you help me or not?" Mike didn't answer. Instead he grabbed the motionless form of Daenerys and began to drag it towards the tent´s exit.

"So that is your answer?" Duur shouted after him. "It doesn't matter! You cannot save her!" And with those words she began chanting again.

* * *

Daenerys woke to silence.

Not to a silence that hung between two scorned lovers that had nothing to say to each other anymore. Not to a silence that hung over the unmarked graves of a thousand soldiers. Not to a silence that spoke of worse thing to come.

No, it was a silence that ensued after a thunderstorm, when the world had been cleansed and live was again blooming. A silence that you woke up to when you opened your eyes in the morning after a long and restful sleep; a silence you fell asleep to when you felt safe.

"You are awake, Khalessi." Daenerys turned her head to look at Jorah who was kneeling beside her bedstead.

"What happened?" she asked hoarsely, her throat dry. Her mind was still blurry and she couldn't quite recall what had happened before she had fallen asleep.

"The shaman that you rescued from the lamb-peoples' village," Jorah began, "promised you to heal Khal Drogo. But instead she attempted to perfume some vile magic that would take both the life of the Khal and your son." Daenerys' eyes widened in horror. She looked down on her stomach.

"What happened?" she cried, becoming hysterical. "What happened to Drogo? What happened to my son?" She tried to sit up, but her body betrayed her by not obeying her command.

"Your son is safe," Jorah assured her. "I don´t know how he did it – or why – but Michael managed to save your son´s life."

"Where is he?" Daenerys demanded to know, her whole mind consumed by the urge to have her son in her arms.

"I will call for him," Jorah replied to her. He stood up, brushed aside the tents entrance and walked out. A few moments later he came back with Michael in tow, who was holding a small bundle of blankets.

"Here´s your son," Michael said and carefully placing the babe into Daenerys' waiting arms. She looked down on the baby – on her son – who didn't cry and was so small that she feared she would break him and felt nothing but love.

"We don´t know if he´ll survive," Michael said solemnly. "He was born too early and is too small."

"He will survive," Daenerys replied. "He is the Stallion That Mounts The World. He is the Blood Of The Dragon." She caressed her son´s cheek. Then she turned her gaze back towards Michael. "What happened to my husband?" Instantly both Jorah´s and Michael´s gaze turned sombre.

"Duur killed him," Jorah finally responded. "We were unable to stop her." His gaze was cast downward. Daenerys didn't say anything for a long time. She didn't know if she had loved Drogo – how could she when he had taken her when she had still been a young and terrified girl? But he had given her Rhaego and for that she would always hold him dear. There was no use to cry over him now, though. More urgent matters had to be attended to.

"Is she at least apprehended?" she asked of her advisor. Jorah just nodded silently. "Her judgment has to wait until I´ll be able to carry it out." She turned towards Michael.

"It is difficult to describe how thankful I am for what you have done for me," Daenerys said. "Name anything and if I can give it to you then you shall have it."

"I want my freedom," Michael replied without thinking long about it.

"You shall have it," Daenerys announced. "Where will you go now?"

"I think until I find better opportunities elsewhere I´ll just stay with you," Mike shrugged.

* * *

"You never left," Daenerys said.

"Harvey would have had my head if I had left you," Mike replied. "He was always denying that he cared, but he was the most compassionate man I knew." He sighed.

"Every time you tell me something about this Harvey I like him more," Daenerys commented.

"You two would have got along well," Mike smiled. "You both have this no-nonsense attitude and a way of convincing people that they should do what you want them to do."

"He had no dragons, though," Daenerys pointed out.

"Don´t tell anyone I said that," Mike whispered conspiratorially. "But Donna was a dragon of her own."

"She sounds like a fearsome woman," Daenerys agreed. "The people you knew were truly exceptional."

"Yes, they are," Mike whispered as he stared through the windows at the night sky. "But you shouldn't sell yourself short either. I think it are the obstacles that we face that define who we are in the end." He paused for a short moment. "Theirs were different than yours…less lethal in any case."

"What made you give up on your hopes for ever going to your home again?" Daenerys asked. "I know it must have been something that happened in Quarth. You were…different after we left the city. More open and trusting."

"It was something that was shown to me in the House of the Undying," Mike answered.

"An illusion," Daenerys scowled.

"No," Mike shook his head. "It was more than that."

* * *

"Daenerys!?" Mike screamed of the top of his lungs, running along the empty corridors in a desperate attempt to find the missing queen. "Daenerys!" The corridor ended into a door. Without thinking Mike threw it open and stepped through…

…only to find himself in the living room of a house he knew very well.

"Ah, Michael." Mike knew the voice and to whom it belonged. He couldn't turn around, frozen on the spot. His breathing hitched. "I´m so glad that you could come." His grandmother shuffled around him, setting some plates on the coffee table. "I just finished setting the table for our dinner." She eyed him critically. "You haven´t forgotten, have you? Today´s Friday and you always come over on Friday." She shook her head. "Is it Harvey? Does he overwork you again?"

"No, it isn´t him," Mike replied, finally having regained his voice. "I had a lot on my mind recently."

"But now that you´re here you can let go off all of those silly things," his grandmother replied. "They only drag you down. Come, come." She hushed him and years of ingrained instinct had Mike sit down at one of the places on the table. "Tell me about your day, deary." She sighed. "You come by so rarely that I barely know what´s going on in your life." Instantly guilt filled Mike´s mind. He really should take better care of Grammy. She was the only family member he had left after all. She didn't deserve grandchild that was so inattentive towards her.

"There isn´t much going on," Mike replied as Grammy served the first dish. There really wasn't, Mike supposed. Harvey was working him like a slave driver, but that wasn't something new. He had complained to his grandmother often enough about it. Yet, Mike had the feeling that there was something important, something he needed to tell – needed to do – but it evaded him every time he thought he could grasp it with his mind.

"Come on, Mike," his grandmother chided. "You cannot seriously expect me to believe that there isn´t anything going on in your life." The feeling – the urge – that he had forgotten something important grew more incessant, but Mike let the feeling of security that always came with the presence of his Grammy wash over him.

"Louis is getting his name on the wall," he told her, distaste clear in his voice.

"This insufferable man you told me about?" his grandmother asked and took a sip from her cup.

"Yes, that man," Mike replied and he wanted to continue, but then he saw it. His Grammy´s lips had turned blue. Warlock blue.

With a rush everything came back: Daenerys, the dragons, Quarth, the warlocks.

"Mike, is something the matter?" his grandmother – the warlock – asked concerned.

"I have to go," Mike pressed out. He pushed back his chair, who fell on the ground with a loud bang and moved straight towards the door.

"But Mike, we haven't finished," he could hear the warlock shout after him in his grandmother´s indignant voice. He didn't pay it any heed, though, too afraid to look back and see those blue lips on his Grammy´s face.

He opened the door and shut it behind him. The coldness and silence that was suddenly around him seeped deep into his flesh and made him shudder. Better that then this…illusion that the warlocks had summoned for him. The coldness didn't hurt as much as the moments that he could never experience again.

Collecting his breath and trying to compose himself, Mike continued his way. This was the warlock´s playing field. They held advantage over him, could let him dance like he was their puppet on strings.

 _When someone´s holding you at gunpoint there are 146 ways of dismantling it_ , a voice whispered in his head as he continued his way. Mike made it shut up. He couldn't have it. He couldn't break right now. He let his finger roam over the cold stone wall. He could feel every crack, every bump in the wall; could feel the roughness of the stone underneath the cup of his fingers. It was something real and he clung tightly to it. He couldn't trust his eyes, his ears – his mind, he remembered himself – nut there was something soothing about the cold numbness that spread through his fingers.

The corridor ended in front of another door. Mike stilled for a moment, but looking back he saw nothing but darkness. He didn't think that the warlocks would want him to go back. Taking a deep breath, he grasped the door handle and turned it down. With a loud crank the door opened and Mike stepped over its threshold.

The empty hallways of PSL laid before him. Behind its glass façade, Mike could see the skyline of Manhattan shining brightly, even brighter than the moon and the stars on the night sky. There seemed to be no one here but himself, so Mike took a few steps forward. It even smelled like Mike remembered it: Expensive cologne, the fabric of thousand-dollars suits and Mike let the sense of nostalgia take over him.

His feet seemed to move on their own accord, but Mike knew where they would lead them. The familiar corner office looked like it did the last time Mike had seen it. The records in their shelves on the wall, the baseballs on the window sill, the couch on which he had spent so many hours going over legal documents.

The pain seeing this remnant of his past brought to him was nearly unbearable. Why had they torture him with all those things he could never have again? What had he done to deserve seeing everything he had once cherished only for it to be torn away from him again.

"Mike, what are you doing here?"

"You aren´t the real Donna," Mike spoke as he turned around to see Harvey´s secretary standing behind her cubicle, looking as immaculate as ever.

"I am not," was all the red-head replied. "But I am made after the image of the Donna you know."

"You are?" Mike responded.

"I am," Donna nodded. "In here," – she made a vague gesture with her hand – "you just see what your heart most desires. The warlocks don´t control it." She laughed and it was such a Donna sound that it made Mike´s hear twinge. "They have long lost the power to do that. They´re just husks of what they used to be."

"How would you know that?" Mike demanded to know, "when you´re just a figment of my imagination?"

"Maybe I am more than that," Donna smirked. "This place is old after all. Much older than this city or the warlocks that control it." She took a few steps around the cubicle until she stood before Mike. "But what are you doing here, Mike?"

"I don´t know," he whispered. "I don´t know. I…I just don´t know. One day I just woke up here and ever since then I´ve tried to find a way back. Find a way back home." He could feel a tear running down his cheek.

"Oh, Mike," Donna said, one hand caressing his cheek. "I´m so sorry for all the desperation that has wormed its way into your life. I truly am." She wiped away the tear. "But if I know one thing, then it´s that you´re strong. You´ll make it, that I know for certain."

"How can you?" Mike asked, "when I feel so lost? Like I´m a drowning man in the ocean. I just want to come home." Donna just looked at him and her gaze was full of compassion and pity.

"What if you never can?" she replied. "What if this is the only life you´ll ever have? Do you really want to waste it searching for something that may never be within your grasp?"

"I can´t just give up," Mike told her. "What about my Grammy? What about Rachel, you, even Louis? What about," – he swallowed – "what about Harvey?"

"We miss you, Mike," Donna admitted. "You´re absence is like a gaping hole within our souls. But as it is the nature of injuries, this wound will heal over time as well." She pointed at the windows and Mike looked.

He saw Harvey throwing a glass of scotch against the wall. He saw Rachel crying in her office. He saw Louis berating a new associate. He saw his grandmother sitting alone in her retirement home. He saw Donna´s blank face when no one was looking. But over the time the pictures changed. He saw Harvey sitting with his grandmother, laughing over photo albums and sharing stories. He saw Rachel hauling Louis to all those fancy food places she had always dragged Mike to. He saw Donna and Harvey standing in front of the office, serene but still smiling. He saw all of his friends sitting around Harvey´s table, lifting their glasses and toasting to something Mike didn't know.

"So, they´ll be okay?" he asked, a lump sitting in his throat. "Even without me?"

"We´ll be," Donna assured him. "We will never forget you, Mike. After all, it was you who somehow brought us together. But we will heal. As will you, if you allow it." Mike swallowed.

"What is it that holds me here?" he wanted to know.

"A lost girl and her child who wouldn´t have survived without you," Donna replied. "But you don´t have to decide now. You aren´t finished yet. There is one station left for you." She pointed towards a door at the end of the hallway. "I think you know what´s waiting behind it." Mike nodded.

"Goodbye, Mike," Donna said and Mike just knew that he would never see her again. She had been an integral part of his life, a precious friend that he could always rely on, but her role in his life had come to an end. Donna would continue her life without him and he would go wherever the doors may lead him.

"Goodbye, Donna," he whispered. The secretary smiled at him one last time. Then her features slowly turned more and more transparent until she had completely vanished. Mike was alone again.

Slowly breathing out, Mike turned around and walked towards the next – and hopefully the last door. He had a strong inkling as to where it would lead him, but he was ready. Or as ready as he could ever be.

His hand touched the door handle. He could feel the cold and smooth metal underneath his fingertips. Slowly, he pushed it down until the door opened with a barely audible click.

Pushing the door open Mike entered.

* * *

Harvey´s condo hadn't changed much. The same ugly pictures on the wall of the hallway leading to the kitchen and living room area. The same books in the shelves, the same records on the wall. But there were a few small changes – barely visible who didn't look for them. There were cooking books in the kitchen now. Harvey had always considered it unmanly to display them openly. Apparently that had changed. The whole collection of Star Trek DVD-boxes was now proudly displayed over the flat screen.

It seemed that Harvey was done hiding parts of himself. Mike could only approve.

Harvey himself was laying on the couch. He was only wearing sweatpants and a white t-shirt that hung loosely on his frame. He was sleeping. It made him look younger and more peaceful than he did look when he was awake. No masks, no smoke-and-mirror, no suits to hind behind. Just the man who had plunged Mike out of his life of mediocrity and given him a chance at something better.

Mike sat down on the chair opposite of Harvey and just watched the man sleeping. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful expression and wondered if he could have had all that if he hadn't vanished on that fateful day.

"Mike?" Harvey mumbled and opened his eyes. "You´re here?"

"Heyah, Harvey," Mike replied with an awkward wave of his hand.

"Am I dreaming?" Harvey asked.

"I think you are," Mike responded. "I don´t know how long I can stay."

"You just vanished," Harvey said him, his tone accusatory. "You left me."

"I know," Mike winced, "I know, Harvey, and I´m so sorry." He swallowed. "I miss you every waking moment here. I miss you when I wake up at morning, when I wander for hours with nothing on the horizon but desolation and I miss you when I fall asleep at night."

"Then why did you leave?" Harvey demanded to know.

"I don´t know, Harvey," Mike shouted. He couldn't take it; couldn´t take that Harvey wouldn't understand what he was trying to say. "I don´t know." Harvey sat up.

"And I don´t know if I´m ever able to come back," Mike continued in a whisper. "I´ve tried everything."

"Wherever you are right now," Harvey started, "are you happy there? Content?" Mike took a a few seconds to think about that question. Was he happy where he was right now. He thought about Doreah who had taught him how to cook a traditional Lys dish yesterday. He thought about Jhogo who was always eager to learn new things, eagerly hanging on Mike´s lips, taking in every word the other man said. He thought about Jorah – the Old Bear as Daenerys liked to call him – and how he would tell them stories about Westeros when they sat around the fire at night. He thought about Rhaego who had just spoken his first word a few days ago and was eagerly exploring every new place he could reach crawling. And he thought about Daenerys and how she was still a teenager – a child – and yet already so strong for each of them. Carrying a burden so heavy that stronger man would have already broken under, but she just continued and kept going on, with a smile on her face.

Maybe Mike had never realized it before, but these people were his family now, like Harvey, Donna, Rachel and Louis had been. Still were. After all, who said that you couldn't chose your family?

"I think I am," Mike replied. He looked at Harvey and saw only understanding in those brown orbs. "I think I´ll always ask myself what we could have been if I hadn't vanished. What it would have felt like to wake up beside you; to grow old with you. And maybe in another life I´ll get the chance to experience it. But not in this."

"You´re sure?" Harvey asked.

"I am," Mike replied resolutely.

"It has been an honour," Harvey said, "knowing you. Never lose the spark that makes you who you are."

"I won´t," Mike promised. "Can I…before I go on?" Harvey just stepped forward and then his lips where on Mikes'. Kissing Harvey was like everything Mike had imagined and even more. It was thousand fireworks in the sky, a supernova exploding, a fire kindling deep within his heart. A love story folded in only a few seconds, a promise of trust and loyalty. Harvey devoured Mike and Mike let him, because this was the only time he would ever experience this. He clung to the older man and hoped that he wouldn't fall into the dark abyss beneath him.

Then the kiss was over and Harvey let go of Mike.

"Go on, Rookie," he said. "We´ll see each other again in the end."

"Goodbye, Harvey." Darkness closed in from all sides and consumed the whole room.

* * *

Silence.

Then there was something falling down. Mike took a few steps forward and stretched his hand after it. It was a snowflake. A tiny little thing that melted the moment it touched his skin. Another one soon followed; and another until thousands of snowflakes were falling down. Mike followed them, one step after another. Slowly the darkness receded, forms slowly taking shape until he stood in a great hall. A pedestal was situated on the other end of the hall and atop of it a throne a thin sheet of snow covering it, made out of hundreds of molten swords.

A lone figure was standing in front of the throne, her white hair making her easily identifiable for Mike.

"Daenerys?" he called out. Daenerys turned around, her gaze full of fear but also of determination.

"You´re not real," she insisted. "You´re just another illusion."

"No, I´m not," Mike replied. "I followed you. And now I´ve found you."

"How can I trust anything you say?" Daenerys demanded to know. "Isn´t that exactly what an illusion would say in order to make me trust it?"

"Then there´s nothing I can do or say to make you believe me," Mike said. His gaze wandered back to the monstrosity of a throne standing in front of it.

"So, that´s what you´re fighting for?" Mike asked. "That´s what you´ve suffered all the hardship, all the humiliation, all the pain and the grief for?"

"It has been taken from my family by the Usurper and his dogs," Daenerys replied without taking her gaze off the throne. "The Iron Throne is mine by right. And I will see everyone burned who dares to withhold it from me." She turned her gaze back towards Mike.

"I will continue on," she said, "If you are not an illusion, as you claim not to be, then you should be able to follow me out of this room." She turned around and walked resolutely to the next door. Mike followed suit.

The shrieking of Daenerys' dragons was what awaited them in the next room. Without bothering to wait for Mike, she ran towards them, speaking soothingly to the agitated animals.

"The Mother of Dragons." Faster than he could have thought possible Mike turned around. A warlock – the warlock from the feast. Like a spectre he materialized out of the darkness and stepped into the light towards them. "And the Wanderer of Worlds," he spoke as his gaze turned towards Mike.

"You know…," Mike started.

"Where you have come from?" the warlock finished his question. "Of course we do. There is nothing that escapes the gaze of the Undying." His blue lips turned into a smile. "Do you want to go back, Michael? Back to your family?" Mike stared at the warlock, considered his offer and…wasn't tempted. It seemed that they truly didn't have control over their own domain. He had found closure within its walls.

"I have a family," Mike spit at the warlock. The warlock just looked at him unimpressed and then turned towards Daenerys and her still chained dragons.

"They miss their mother," he spoke to her. "They want to be with you. Dou you want to be with them?" His smile turned maniac and his eyes were suddenly filled with madness.

"You will be," he continued. "When your dragons were born, our magic was born again. It is the strongest in their presence. And they are the strongest in yours. You will be with them, through winter, summer and winter again. Across a thousand seasons you will be with them. And we will be with you until times comes to an end." He spread his arms. "Welcome home, Daenerys Stormborn."

Daenerys just looked at the warlock with distaste and loathing.

"This is not my home," she spat out. "My home is across the sea where my people are waiting for me."

"They will be waiting for a long time," the warlock smiled. Daenerys smiled back, but hers was more wild – more feral.

"Dracarys!" she exclaimed. The dragons shrieked one last time and then the warlock was engulfed within a fiery storm. He trashed around and his dying screams filled the air, but both Mike and Daenerys watched calmly as the warlock´s body dropped to the ground, trashed around a few times and then stilled.

"You really meant it?" Daenerys asked. "What you said when he offered you a way back to your home?" Mike looked at her and for once didn't saw the Queen, the Mother of Dragons, but instead saw a terrified teenaged girl who just wanted to find her place in the world, with precious few people that she could call her friends.

"Yes," he replied. "I meant it." A short pause. "And now let´s get out of the godforsaken place."

* * *

"That was when I finally admitted to myself that I could never go back home," Mike told Daenerys.

"Do you sometimes wish you could go back?" Daenerys asked as another cloud obscured the pale moon. Mike sighed.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "Like you sometimes wished you hadn't been married to Drogo. Like you sometimes wished that you hadn't hatched your dragons. Fleeting thoughts that vanish as fast as they appear. I´m content where I am now." He smiled. "And besides, now I´m gonna see all those petty nobles tomorrow making their faces when it´s me – a man not of your family and of questionable origin – who´s going to lead you down the aisle." He grinned and Daenerys had to smile as well.

"They´re gonna throw a fit," she replied, using one of the phrases Mike had though her back in Mereen. It seemed so far away, now that she was sitting here. "They don´t like you."

"Well, there are only two persons I need to like me," Mike said. "And I think maybe there´ll be a third one soon as well."

"Oh," Daenerys arched her eyebrows. "Who will that be?"

"Your future husband came to me just yesterday," Mike answered.

* * *

Mike was surfing through the Red Keep´s library – or at least through what had been survived the negligence dished upon them first by Robert Baratheon and then by Cersei and Joffrey. Mike wandered through the space between the shelves and let his fingers wander over the spines of the old tomes. The books here were old – as old as the Seven Kingdoms – and each of them held part of its history within its pages.

It held something awe-inspiring for Mike. Like that feeling that took a hold of you when you entered a cathedral, even if you didn't believe in God. That feeling of grandeur, age, wisdom and otherworldliness that only truly special places could give off.

For Mike libraries were the greatest place of worship. Especially in this world, where one single book could be worth more than a whole castle.

"You are Ser Mike, aren´t you?" Mike turned his gaze away from the book he was holding and towards the figure that had spoken to him.

"I´m no knight," he replied. "So you can leave the 'Ser' out." He put the book back onto its place and then paid his whole attention to Daenerys' future husband.

Robb Stark had been deeply marked by the War of the Five Kings. Not in body, but in mind. While there where a few scars upon the visible parts of his body, he still was a handsome man in his prime. But his eyes were those of a person that had seen – and done – so much cruelties that they had lost every faith in humanity. He looked at the world and found it lacking, like so many men who had rode out for honour and vengeance and found only slaughter and death.

He was the last of the Starks. His two brothers lost and presumed dead in the icy waste north of the Wall, his youngest sister Arya missing as well and his other – Sansa – so traumatized that she wouldn't leave her chamber in Winterfell. The only left beside his half-brother Jon, whom Robb had legitimized as Stark and who was now heading the North while Robb was here in Kings Landing, a place he loathed and had vowed to never enter.

Fate was a cruel mistress, indeed.

"Of what help may I be to you, Lord Stark?" Mike inquired. He was polite, but not submissive.

"You and the Queen…you are close…" Robb started to stammer and Mike had to supress the urge to laugh out loud.

"Yes we are," he replied instead. "But not like you think."

"Forgive me," he said, just an empty phrase. Robb Stark did not apologize to anyone. He was much too feared by everyone to make himself enemies by insulting someone with lack of decorum. "But you are always in her presence and she heeds what you are saying." He paused for a moment. "There is even the rumour that it is you that is the puppeteer behind the throne." Now Mike was annoyed.

"If throwing inane rumours is what you came here for, then I have to ask you to leave me be," he bit out. "I have better things to do than listen to them."

"No, no, that isn´t what I came here for," Robb hastily corrected himself. "It´s…I…I need you advise."

"My advice?" Mike repeated incredulously.

"I long came to terms with the fact that I am to marry the Queen," Robb said.

"You were the only choice," Mike interrupted. "Let´s be honest: The Lords wanted someone of their own at Daenerys' side, because they think they can control her better like that. The Martells are already on Targaryen loyalists and have no desire to marry off one of their own. The Baratheons, the Lannisters, the Arryns and the Tullys are down to so few members that they can count themselves lucky if their name survives the coming decades and nobody trusts a Tyrell. So it was either you or your brother and the Lords would have revolted if Daenerys had chosen a legitimizes bastard." Mike sighed. "Believe me, she is as enthused about this marriage as you are."

"I know that," Robb grinded out. "That is why your advice needed; I don´t want a marriage like Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister had. Forced together and then coming to despise each other." Suddenly Robb didn't look like a war-experienced soldier, but like an anxious teenager who asked his best friend for dating advice. Red on his cheek and his eyes looking anywhere but Mike.

"I want to have what my parents had," he added in a whisper.

"So, you want to know what you can do so that Daenerys and you can at least tolerate each other," Mike clarified. "Okay."

"You´re the queen´s closest confidante," Robb supplied as if it would explain everything.

"First thing: Stop calling her queen," Mike interrupted him. "That makes you look submissive and mean and that isn´t something Daenerys likes. Secondly, don´t try to assert any kind of dominance over her. It´s the fastest way to find yourself as burning corpse, believe me." Mike chewed on his lip. "Just be…genuine. Don´t act, don´t pretend, don´t hide yourself behind some made-up persona. That´s the thing that ruins marriages."

"I was never good at these false pretences like all the southern nobles are," Robb replied. "It costed me much." His face took a pained expression. "But thank you for your advice."

"No need to thank me," Mike said and added slyly: "After all we´ll be family soon."

* * *

"I don´t know if I should feel offended that he asked you all that or kind of charmed that he did at least ask," Daenerys snorted as Mike had finished his tale.

"What is wrong with asking me for advice?" Mike replied mock-offended. "I´m the Queen Whisperer!" They both shared a laugh.

"You know that most of the nobles here think I´m sleeping with you," Daenerys commented.

"That would be weird," Mike replied. "You´re like a sister to me." They both looked at each other, probably both thinking the same – about any kind of blood relation never having stopped the Targaryen from marrying each other – and snorted.

"Thank you, Mike," Daenerys said.

"For what are you thanking me for?" Mike asked.

"Don´t be obtuse," Daenerys chided. "I know very well why you have come here."

"Has it worked?" Mike wanted to know.

"Yeah," Daenerys nodded. "It has."

"Then I´m glad," Mike replied. "Tomorrow a new era begins." He laid one arm around Daenerys' shoulder and they both just basked in each other's presence.

Mike was right. A new era would begin tomorrow.

* * *

Mike woke to the sound of the door to his chambers being unlocked. He let out a small breath. Every movement – even if it was only to breath – hurt like thousand needles were piercing his guts. Mike didn't need to open his eyes to know who it was that was sneaking into his rooms, though. There was only one person who had ever done that and was still doing it.

"After all those years and you still sneak into my chambers?" he asked the man. He had an unusual look to him. His skin was of bronze tone, much like the Dornish possessed. His eyes were of a vibrant purple which stood in stark contrast to his white hair that was braided and reached down to the man´s pelvis. He was of strong build, his well-toned muscles gleaming under the light. A few scars marred his otherwise perfect appearance. They told of fights that had been fought – over justice, over land, over women.

"You always knew the best stories," Rhaego, now a man full grown, replied. He took one of the stools and sat down beside where Mike had been laid on his bed. "How are you, old man?"

"I don´t think that it will be much longer," Mike replied and the atmosphere in the room instantly turned solemn. "I am an old man, like you said, Rhaego. I am nearly seventy; it´s a wonder I´ve even made it this far in these conditions." He sighed. "I had a fulfilling live. I´ve seen so many places, met so many people. I had my role in history and now it has come to an end."

"Don´t speak like that," Rhaego snapped. "Surely the Maesters will know of something that will help you. They have to be useful for that at least." He threw out some curse words in Dothraki. Mike had never bothered to learn the language. He could have – with his eidetic memory – but the things he associated with the guttural tongue always prevented him from doing so.

"You can´t cure age," Mike replied calmly. He wondered when he had become the sagely old man that others came to for advice. Like his Grammy had been for him. He chuckled at the thought that the young, impulsive, pot-head Mike had become the wise man a king asked for advice. Funny how life played out in the end. "Don´t direct your anger at these men and their limitations. They are not at fault."

"I´m sorry," Rhaego apologized. "It´s just…just…"

"I don´t want you to leave me," he said with glistening eyes. "You´re the only thing I´ve left after mother died."

"That´s not true," Mike replied and smiled at the boy – nay, man – that was like a son to him. "You have a girl that you love and that you´ll marry one day. Believe me, having someone you love helping you through your times of turmoil is the greatest source of happiness." He paused for a moment, as the pain in his body became too much to continue speaking. "You may don´t want to hear it – I didn't either when I was still young – but I don´t fear death anymore. It´s part of life after all."

"You´re right, I don´t want to hear it," Rhaego smiled sadly. "You know, when I was asked who my father was I always said it was you. I may have been sired by Khal Drogo in the grassy plains of the Dothraki Sea, but it was you who raised me and taught me everything I know today." Tears ran over Mike´s face, but they were not of grief but of joy.

"You will be a great king, Rhaego, the greatest Westeros has ever seen," Mike said. "And whenever you doubt yourself, know that Daenerys and I are watching over you." Mike hissed as another stab of pain shot through him. Rhaego just took his hand and grasped it firmly.

"It´s okay, Mike," he said soothingly. "You can go now. Go to Harvey. And Donna, Rachel and Jessica. Even Louis. They´re probably already waiting for you." Mike smiled at him, but then his eyes focused on the shapes forming behind the boy that was his son in everything but blood.

There were his friends, still looking like the last time he had seen them. Louis with his rat like features, but underneath a heart of gold, looking at him with an expression of annoyance and fondness; Jessica as regal and imposing as ever with a gaze that Mike couldn't decipher; Rachel looking like a dapper girl but a fighter nonetheless, ready to lay out any man – or women – that would come at her; Donna, her hair like a burning crown with her knowing gaze lingering upon him and a smile on her face that made Mike´s heart glow.

But it wasn't then that made him nearly forget to breath.

In front of them Harvey stood, wearing his trademark three-piece-suit. It was the midnight blue one. It always had been Mike´s favourite, the way it brought out Harvey statue; this was the man whom Mike had to thank for everything he had achieved in his life. The man who built him up when he had been torn down, the man who had been always there, even when Mike had been worlds away. The man Mike had felt in love with so many years ago and whom he still loved so much.

Harvey took a step forward and stretched out his hand.

"Ready to go, Rookie?"

Mike took his hand.


End file.
